Saturday, February 28, 2015

An
object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the
same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.
~ Newton’s First Law of Motion

Brandon “Brand” Carmichael’s life
was the stuff dreams were made of…too bad it was an illusion. As a guitarist
for Inert Motion, Brandon traveled the world, performing with his brothers in
all but blood. He never stopped moving all the while his mind played in a never‑ending
loop. Now outside influences have changed the band’s course, leaving Brand’s
life void of the balance he craved. Once again, his dream had become a
recurring nightmare. Brand coped the only way he knew how; retreat into
solitude.

The
acceleration of an object as produced by a net force is directly proportional
to the magnitude of the net force, in the same direction as the net force, and
inversely proportional to the mass of the object. ~ Newton’s Second Law of
Motion

Magdalena “Layna” Delacroix had
achieved the long sought goal of her Ph.D. in Psychology, but success came at a
high cost: over one hundred thousand dollars in debt. After being presented
with the opportunity to fulfill her desire to help someone in the aftermath of tragedy,
along with earning enough money to clear her debt and start a psychology
practice of her own, Layna had to balance the means against the outcome. Could
she be the force to stop the downward spiral of someone who refused to seek
help?

For
every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. ~ Newton’s Third Law
of Motion

Neither Brand nor Layna expected the
reaction they had to one another. It was the opposite of everything they
sought.

Could Layna live a lie while pushing
Brand to live in the truth?

Would Brand forgive her for
committing the one unforgivable sin he couldn’t overlook?

Or was he branded by destiny to be
Reft…

AUTHOR
BIO:

One day some words came to mind, so I wrote
them down. Soon the words became sentences, which formed paragraphs, which, in
turn, formed chapters. Before long, those few words had become a book.

When I’m not reading or writing, I’m a wife, mother, and business owner. I’ve
lived on both coast and few places in between, but as born and raised Southern
girl, I’ll always believe there’s no place like home.

Cover/ Release Day/ Pre-Order Links

**The Hell’s Kitchen series will be available on Amazon on release day. No pre-order option.

The *NEW* Blurb

Hell’s Kitchen (Hell’s Kitchen #1)

*From International Bestselling authors Callie Hart and Lili St. Germain comes a tale of two families co-existing in a melting pot of violence, murder and drugs in the seedy underbelly of New York City*

Hell’s Kitchen

Theo and Sal Barbieri are brothers, tasked by their Mafioso father Roberto with a very clear purpose: kidnap Kaitlin McLaughlin. The beautiful daughter of Roberto’s Irish enemy. It’s high time Kaitlin was punished for her father’s sins—not to mention, her own.

And Operation: Kidnap Kaitlin is a roaring success… until it isn’t. When Kaitlin escapes into the busy streets of New York City, it’s a race against the clock to find her before Sal and Theo become the hunted.

Zeth Mayfair has traded his life as a hitman for a quieter existence, but it isn’t long before the past catches up with him in the form of Roberto Barbieri. Will he succumb to the lure of power that Roberto is offering? Or will he retaliate by killing every last Barbieri in New York to get them off his back?

Jason Ross is running. Woken in the night by a tip that the Gypsy Brothers are coming for him, he packs a bag and gets his girlfriend the hell out of dodge. Arriving in New York City in the midst of a heatwave is one thing, but being tailed by an entire drug cartel is another.

Worlds collide in Hell’s Kitchen as secrets come to light and sins are punished. Because we might be different in the light of day, but in the darkness, we’re all connected somehow.

Hell’s Kitchen is a serial comprising three volumes: Hell’s Kitchen, Tribeca and Bleecker Street. Volume One releases on March 3rd with a limited-time sale price of 99 cents

Teasers- Meet some of the players...

Excerpt

“What time they due to land?” Sal asks. He loops a tie, pre-knotted and ready to go, over his head.
“Twenty minutes.” With traffic the way it is, we’ll be there in ten.
Sal tightens the tie around his neck, placing the ridiculous fucking chauffeur’s hat on his head. He tucks his hair back behind his ears. He needs to cut it, but will the bastard listen? Hell, no. He never listens to a word I say. “Are you ready?” he asks.
I take my eyes off the road, arching an eyebrow at him. Who the hell does he think he’s talking to? I’ve been doing this job longer than him, after all. I’ve never blinked. Never not been ready. He gets the point pretty damn quickly.
“All right, man, I’m sorry.”
When we arrive at the airfield, we’re directed to hangar twelve, no questions asked. Paddy McLaughlin’s own men would have arrived around now—if we hadn’t already beaten the shit out of them and handcuffed them to a pillar inside an old cardboard factory down on the wharf—so we’re expected. Kaitlin McLaughlin’s plane is delayed. I’m already bored and itching to go by the time the private jet touches down. Sal climbs out of the car and leans against the front passenger door, waiting for the prissy Irish princess and her entourage to exit the plane. When she does, we’re in luck.
Normally, Paddy doesn’t send his little girl anywhere without two personal bodyguards. Today, she’s only accompanied by one. Sal taps the hood of the car as he goes out to take her bags. I have the engine purring in anticipation as he opens the back passenger side door for her and she climbs inside.
Huge sunglasses cover her eyes. That full mouth of hers is perfectly visible in the rearview, though. “Where the fuck is Ray?” she asks. Her father may be first generation Irish, but Kaitlin was born and raised in the States—she sounds like a spoiled little Yank bitch.
“Mr. McLaughlin needed him for something else. He sent us instead.”
She slides the sunglasses down the bridge of her nose, peering at me over the car’s half-raised privacy screen. “And who are you?”
I give her a tight-lipped smile, doing my best to keep my tongue in my head. We need the bodyguard to get in the car, and then we’re golden. Until then, I’m Jerry, the friendly town car driver. “Jerry. My buddy there, that’s Gareth. We’re new.”
“I can see that.” She makes a low, humming sound at the back of her throat. She sounds like she approves. Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t touch crazy pussy. But I will introduce you to my old man, all the same. He just can’t wait to fucking meet you.
The door behind me opens and I feel the car dip as someone gets in—I didn’t notice before, but the lone bodyguard with Kaitlin is a woman. Must be the chick Roberto was talking about. I get a good look at her in the rearview and find myself taking a second one for good measure. She’s blisteringly hot. Maybe in her mid-twenties? Long dark hair, tied back into a braid. High cheekbones. A mouth to rival Kaitlin’s. Her tits strain against her tight black shirt as she twists to put on her seatbelt. You can tell she works out; her clothes fit her far too well for her not to know she looks good in them, too.
Just like Kaitlin, she asks, “Where’s Ray?”
“Busy doing something for Daddy,” Kaitlin informs her, which saves me from spinning the lie again.
“Okay. Straight to the bar, then.” The body guard’s head doesn’t even lift, but she’s a professional. She assesses me in the mirror just as I’ve assessed her. I pretend not to notice as Sal folds himself into the passenger seat.
“Of course.” I press the button for the privacy screen, raising it the rest of the way, blocking out all sound from the back of the car. Sal turns and gives me one of his wicked, crazy-ass grins. He’s enjoying this already. “All right, then, big brother. Let’s do this.” He leans forward and hits a button on the dash—and every single door on the town car automatically locks. “No backing out now.”
I burn out of the hangar to the sounds of muffled thuds from the back of the car. The bodyguard’s not stupid. She’s heard the doors locking and knows something isn’t right. “Motherfucker! Open this up right now!”
Normally there’s an intercom in these cars, but this one’s different. Sal and I smashed the shit out of this car’s intercom with two lump hammers and ripped out the wiring. We also lined the roof with lead. The girls in the back aren’t striking up a conversation with us any time soon. And they aren’t making any phone calls to dear old Papa McLaughlin, either.
As I head back toward the city, the shouting from the back gets louder. It’s accompanied by the dull thudding of feet trying to smash out the privacy screen. Sal raps his knuckles against the glass, grinning again. “Bitch sounds crazy back there. I don’t think she likes the modifications we’ve made.”
I allow myself a small smile as we hit the George Washington Bridge, heading back toward North Manhattan. So far Operation: Kidnap Kaitlin has been a roaring success. Sal pulls out his cell and starts tapping into it with quick fingers. “Telling the old man we’re on our way?”
He nods. “Bastard better give us credit where credit’s due. He’s probably still organising his own fucking birthday party. Meanwhile, we have just successfully taken our mark hostage. We’re on the homeward stretch.”
The fucking homeward stretch.
The thing about saying you’re on the homeward stretch is that often it’s like waving a red flag at a bull. Fate must hear that phrase and decide to fuck over the poor schmuck who was dumb enough to utter it every single fucking time. It’s only seconds after Sal’s parted with those words that the electric window behind me—the bodyguard’s side window—shatters. We knew the bodyguard would be armed, but we didn’t expect anyone to be shooting out the damn side windows. An eruption of fragmented diamonds explodes sideways, spraying a bright yellow smart car with a million shards of glass. The sound of the firing gun is almost deafening.
“What the fuck?”
The smart car veers sideways, smashing into us; I press my foot to the floor, grinding my teeth at the sound of screeching metal and more hammering from the back as I swerve through the traffic. Sal twists in his seat, pulling his gun and pressing it to the glass of the privacy screen. His finger’s on the trigger. “She’s going fucking crazy. I’m gonna shoot the bitch.”

About the Authors

Callie Hart

Callie has experienced many changes throughout her life, and gone through many ups and downs that have all worked towards shaping and molding her into the person she is today: fun loving, active, social, and hard working. The only thing that has remained a constant throughout her life is writing. Creating characters who will tear your conscience in two is a favorite pastime of Callie’s. There are few real saints and sinners in her books; more often, the denizens of her stories are all very human. Broken, flawed, and always with the potential for redemption.

Despite the subject matter being markedly hot and heavy in comparison to the stories she wrote in elementary school, there will always be an element of fairytale to her work.

Lili writes dark romance, suspense and paranormal stories. Her serial novel, Seven Sons, was released in early 2014, with the following books in the series to be released in quick succession. Lili quit corporate life to focus on writing and so far is loving every minute of it. Her other loves in life include her gorgeous husband and beautiful daughter, good coffee, Tarantino movies and spending hours on Pinterest.

Callie Hart & Lili St. Germain are coming back to the US! Just in time for the release of their joint projectHell's Kitchen. Join Callie and Lili, Saturday March 14th, at the super cool Inspire News Cafe from 5-7 for a special printing and signing of their newest book and a Q& A session.

Then, come upstairs to the Wayfarer Bar, from 7-9 for cocktails (cash bar) and laughs. It'll be a fun evening with Hell's Kitchen chatter, some themed cocktails, light bites and a chance to spend some more time talking about all things Hart St Germain.

**Books that are printed will be available for purchase for around $10. Exact price to be confirmed closer to event date. This is pretty awesome! The machine that prints books while you watch is one of only 30 in the world! You'll be able to take away your unique, limited edition of Hell's Kitchen, signed by both authors - There will never be others that look like the ones printed in Vegas.

**Snack foods will be provided.
**All drinks are your responsibility

The Venues

Inspire News Cafe (downstairs) and Wayfarer Bar (upstairs) are both gorgeous, hip venues with kick ass atmosphere! The Wayfarer bar is where we'll finish the night and is a gorgeous, mad-men inspired bar that will be closed just for attendees!

I sent him off to be a star, to chase his dreams.
I placed mine on hold so he could have his.
He kissed me, made love to me, and promised he’d come back.

He lied…

The original plan was to show up and steal him back.
But in the process, I inadvertently fell hard for another rocker.
Now, I’m in deep with both of them.
I love one with my heart.
I love the other with my soul.

I’m selfish.
I’m greedy.
I want to keep them both.

They want me to choose.

How dare they. How dare they ask me to choose.
If I give my heart up, I’ll lose my soul.
If I give my soul up, I'll lose my heart.
Yet I’m terrified if I don’t make a decision, I’ll lose them both.

I’ll lose.

Ice
Steam is up for pre-order for 0.99 on Amazon, and will change to 2.99
when the book goes live next Tuesday.

UK US

ICE
STEAM

Excerpt.

Obsessive
Pimpettes Blog Tour

The
door was matte-black. A gold embossed 409 situated at eye-level. A “Do Not
Disturb” door-hanger swayed ever so slightly from the handle.

I
could hear a familiar rhythm, stifled by carpets, curtains, bed sheets, wood
and concrete, coming from the other side of the door. Massive Attack’s Angel.

The
same base, drumbeat, guitar strum, and soft voice I lost my virginity to.

I
pressed my forehead below the 409, pressed my palms flat against the
matte-black wood, letting the muffled music seep through the wood and into my
pores as the memories of that night floated around my head in lazy swirls, like
spice-scented smoke from an illegal Cuban cigar.

My
heart ached. Then it smiled. Then it ached some more.

The
song ended then started all over again like it was set on repeat. I
straightened up, curled my fingers into a hook, and made two gentle taps on the
door. Possibly too gentle to be heard over the magical creation of Angel.

The
music volume dimmed, and a few seconds later the door soundlessly opened.

Eyes
of blue skies and cirrus clouds stared at me with evident conflict, as though
he wasn’t quite sure whether he was glad I came, or wish I’d obeyed the capitalized
‘DON’T’ in his message.

With
a five o’ clock shadow on chiseled jaw, his sturdy physique was clad in a
dark-gray sweater and denims, white socks, no shoes.

Releasing
the door handle, he took small steps backward into the room.

I
walked in, closed the door and leaned back against it.

Black
Doc Martens were kicked off haphazardly by the bedside, a chocolate-brown
duffel bag vomiting clothes out onto the bed.

His
fiancée was under the impression that he was still in New York spending quality
time with his sister.

Instead
he was here, in a hotel room, staring at me, keeping his distance like I was an
apparition, fists clenched tight.

I let
my handbag fall to the floor, my hands left dangling at my sides like a puppet,
letting the blood flow freely so I could think clearly.

“I
begged you not to come,” were his first words.

“I’m
not Jesus,” I replied, voice quiet, “I don’t answer prayers.”

Pushing
away from the door, I took a step towards him, but he stepped back. “What are
we doing, Ally?”

“Picking
up where we left off.”

S. Ann
Cole is a passionate writer and reader, and a lover of anything that distracts
her from the real world. Reader first and second a writer, S. Ann
Cole is an exaggerator, a laugher, sometimes overly chatty, sometimes
overly shy. She’s afraid of cats, dogs, snakes—heck, she’s only tolerable to
gold fishes in a tank. Because if they do jump out and try to attack her, the
suckers will surely die…

She hates
chocolate, schmaltz and arrogance.

She
loves carbs, Chris Brown and humility.

She
lives nowhere and everywhere.

Jokey
people are her favorite people, as laughter is the way to her heart.

Never
mind her foul-mouth (she’s working hard on changing that!), she loves GOD.
Fiercely. And believes prayer is the essence of all good, great, wonderful and
miraculous things, and the most powerful privilege given unto man.

Ann
hopes that one day, the right day, when it’s her time (because nothing happens
before its time), her hard work will be noticed and appreciated, and she’ll
become a “NYT Bestselling Author”…

Uh-uh.
Yeah. That’s what she said.

When
Ann’s not abusing her computer keyboard, you can find her nosing a novel,
watching anything on television that makes her laugh until she breaks into
hiccups (loves Disney & TBS!) studying the Bible, or guzzling booze.

Going undercover has its challenges. When Detective Ryan
Clark is sent to the sleepy coastal town of Fremantle to dismantle the
country’s most lethal drug syndicate, it’s worth the risk. Even if he becomes a
fatality, in the war against drugs.

Ryan finds himself coming back to the same coffee shop.
Blondie, the local barista, has him hot under the collar and reaching for his
piece. He knows the attraction isn’t just one-sided.

She’s trying to keep her distance.

It only makes him want her more.

Willow Asher left it all behind, but not by choice.

After two long years, she’s finally getting somewhere.
Willow has a busy café with her buxom business partner, Gabby, who is the
closest thing she has to family.

Although Willow’s past still plagues her thoughts, she’s
determined to have her happily-ever-after. As soon as her demons stop haunting
her.

What she doesn’t need is the complication of Mr
Sexy-Brown-Eyes, who seems to be drinking more and more coffee.

SYNOPSIS

Finally, Dr. Jasmine Carter (Jazz) was getting her shot at
taking the lead on one of the Centre’s highly covert operations. Great,
wonderful, a dream come true even—you’d think. Well, that was until Mr. Tall, Dark,
and Broody—Quade Roston, her fellow Centre co-worker—was assigned to be her
partner.

For the last twelve months, these two had been at war. In
fact, they’d elevated trading verbal barbs to the level of an international
sport. For all the antagonism, the chemistry between them was just as strong. They
both knew it—their teammates knew it. But what the hell were they going to do
about it?

Simple—Jazz issues a challenge to Quade that she thinks he’ll
never accept nor live up to.

Then their seemingly straightforward assignment to
investigate a few cases of a mystery illness suddenly morphs into something
much more deadly. Jazz finds herself the unknowing target in the middle of a
bikie war. Now she’s dealing with threats from all corners. But maybe, just
maybe, the biggest threat will be to her heart.

EXCERPT

A few minutes later, she pulled her coffee from under the machine when the front door opened. Quade walked in, looking all sexy and macho in his jogging gear. Or more accurately—his lack thereof. He wore only loose athletic shorts. His magnificent body was bare. The discarded shirt was tucked into the waistband of his shorts and trailed behind. In his hands, he juggled a couple of large bakery bags and the smell of warm butter croissants filled her nostrils. Croissants were an absolute favorite of hers. More brownie points for Mr. Roston this morning. “Hey, sexy lady—you sleep well?” His deep and low voice immediately made her hot for him. “I just woke up. You been out long?” “I headed out around five.” “Five! That’s so early.” “You know we don’t need to sleep much, Jazz. I got about two or three hours. That’s fine. I was feeling restless so I headed out.” “I’m surprised you didn’t wake me.” She gave him a very suggestive look. “Don’t worry—I thought about it long and hard.” Two could play at innuendos, it seemed. “Why didn’t you do something about it then?” “Because I figured you needed the sleep. As it is, you’ve only have a couple more hours than me. You need more.” Jazz tried to keep her heart under control at his concern. “I wouldn’t want you to be tired and bitchy.” Her temper sprang to life. Ah—she should have known. He just couldn’t help it. Just when she thought he was being sweet, he went and ruined it. “I don’t get bitchy.” Quade paused from unloading the bakery bags on the table. “You sure about that?” “Absolutely.” “Well, I guess this is another one of those areas that we’ll have to agree to disagree.” “What the hell are you talking about?” “I thought it was straightforward? We’re talking about you being bitchy when you don’t get enough sleep.” He was so frustrating. “And how would you know anyway? This is the only time we’ve spent the night together.” “I’ve spent the last twelve months observing you from a distance. I know more about you than you think.” “Well, that may be the case but I’m not bitchy.” “Alright then, you’re not bitchy. Just incredibly hot when you’re out of sorts.” “You think I’m hot when I’m grouchy?” “I do, and you just admitted you get grouchy!” Ahh! He was a pain in her backside. A very sexy one but a pain in the arse nonetheless. “You are a very strange and annoying man.” She huffed, trying not to get pulled too quickly into an argument. “No doubt about that, but that’s why you find me irresistible.” A cheeky grin turned up the corner of his mouth. Was she really having this conversation? Jazz placed the two cups of coffee she’d made on the table. “Who says I find you irresistible?” She stood back, hands on her hips; her eyes flashed, looking for a fight. Almost quicker than her eyes could see, his hand snapped out and caught her around the wrist and pulled her in tight to his body. Before she could utter a word, he’d taken a seat at the table with her safely perched on his lap. His lips crashed down on hers as her protest started to escape. His tongue thrust inside and suddenly she was lost to all rational thought—her body just responded to his demands. Their kiss started at scorching hot and kept climbing till it topped out at what felt like nuclear fusion. One of his hands tangled in her hair and held her head in place for him to plunder and the other caressed her back, ribs, and finally settled on her breast. He pulled away slightly. “Mmm, you smell of sex, me, and that spicy body wash you use. Delicious—I love it.” His voice was little more than a low rumbly growl and goose bumps shot up her arms.

ABOUT NATALIE GAYLE

Natalie is the author of the Centre Games Series. A fast paced, romantic suspense series set on
the Gold Coast, Australia. The series
tells the stories of the Centre, a quasi government agency established to fight
environmental, biological and agricultural threats. The Centre Games books are
filled with hot alpha males and the feisty independent females strong enough to
capture their hearts. Natalie’s books pack lots of action, hot romance and
surprises.

A confessed readaholic and romantic junkie, Natalie spends
her time juggling a busy career as an IT professional and author. In between staring at a computer screen (she
spends lot time doing that!) Natalie, enjoys living the Gold Coast life with
her very tolerant husband and two school aged children.

She loves spending time with family and friends, hitting the
beach, cooking, working out and curling up with a good book. Her pet hates are cleaning and anything else
that can be considered “domestic dullness”.
If she could have one wish it would be to be able to fit 48 hours into
24.

Natalie is currently working on her fifth instalment for the
Centre Games Series and a brand new series for 2015.

Mile High City: Books & Bounty Pairing

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